


A Heaven of Our Misery

by StoriedSiren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage AU, Brienne is perfect, F/M, Slow Burn, Tyrion is a smart ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriedSiren/pseuds/StoriedSiren
Summary: An AU Braime story in which Brienne and Jaime are forced into an arranged marriage…and then discover that she is the heir to the Iron Throne.The title comes from "Songs of Experience" by William Blake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To make the story work, Cersei couldn't have any children. There was no way two "trueborn" sons would be passed over in favor of Brienne, so I had to get rid of them. That, by extension, means that Jaime and Cersei's relationship had to change, at least a little bit.
> 
> I decided not to create a specific genealogy that connected House Baratheon to House Tarth. There may even be a canon family connection, though it probably wouldn't be close enough to make Robert and Brienne cousins. I left the connection maternal and vague so as not to interfere too much with any other canonical family ties.
> 
> I inferred that Tyrion would be living at court since he traveled to Winterfell with his siblings in the first book, though I decided Tywin lives primarily at the Rock…at least until opportunity knocks.
> 
> Thank you for (further) suspending disbelief and most of all, thank you for reading!

They came for his white cloak on a bright summer's day. At least they made it appear official, though such a thing had never been done before. There was a small ceremony involving the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the members of the Small Council and even his lord father. Tywin Lannister's presence was no happy accident: Jaime had no doubt that his father had at last orchestrated his release from the Kingsguard, and therefore a life of bachelorhood. His arrival from Casterly Rock had been what had spurred this farce into motion, and Jaime couldn't look at him without feeling his muscles go stiff with resentment. Cersei was there in her capacity as Queen, and her lips were also curled into a satisfied smile. Her beauty was awe-inspiring, but even that couldn't distract him as he was stripped, with all due ceremony, of the last of his honor.

How gleefully King Robert must have signed the decree which released him from his oath. Jaime felt the ache in his wrists and realized he'd been clenching both fists hard through the entire proceedings.

"Stop making a scene," his father snapped when the horrid thing was finally over. "You're still an anointed knight and the heir to Casterly Rock once more."

"I am a most fortunate son indeed," Jaime replied through stiff lips.

Now that he'd been divested of his white cloak, leaving him feeling somehow diminished, the chamber emptied quickly. His father took advantage of that fact, crossing to the door to close it securely behind the last of the retreating Council members.

"I suppose now you'll tell me the reason for my good fortune," Jaime mused, unable to keep from sounding bitter. He was the best swordsman in the realm, a man grown for years now, and yet he was powerless against his father's machinations. Pathetic.

"You will be grateful to me," Tywin said. It was not a request. Jaime's response was a snort as he searched the chamber for wine. Getting drunk at times like these was usually his brother's forte, but he felt this was an appropriate instance to try and emulate the imp.

"You will marry Brienne of Tarth," his father said, ignoring his son's derision.

"Tarth." If Jaime had ever heard of the place, he'd long ago forgotten. "How the mighty must stoop. I suppose no Tully or Tyrell would take me, what with my rather spoiled reputation, but I have to admit I'm surprised it isn't a Frey. That mummified corpse is practically selling his girl-spawn at market, and I might have merited at least a Banefort or a Bettly—"

Tywin's fist slammed down onto one of the decorative tables in the chamber. Jaime turned to him, his eyebrows lifted in mild surprise at this uncharacteristic loss of control on his father's part.

"So this is what it felt like to Cersei. At least she got a crown out of the bargain," he commented, but if his tone was light, his scorn wasn't. "What makes you think I'll just blithely follow your command? Why should I marry some silly nobody from nowhere?"

Tywin's eyes flashed, nearly gold in the fading afternoon light. He didn't move at a muscle and yet still gave the impression of a stalking lion, sensing the kill and impatient for it.

"You will marry her," he said in a cold, dangerous voice, "because Robert Baratheon is dying, and she will be his heir."

******

Brienne was told that her life was ending the very same day, though many miles away, and in the same unassailable terms. Her father tried to be gentle about the news she was to marry, but there were hard truths to tell and Selwyn couldn't afford to make it seem as though Brienne had a choice in the matter.

"We need the gold," he said bluntly. "We need the link with a great House if we're to survive the winter. The pirates have been too bold—even a long harvest won't save us without help."

"The _Kingslayer_ , father? You truly wish to marry me to a man such as he?" Brienne's shoulders were stiff. She'd always known that she must marry, she was the only one left to inherit Tarth and it was her duty to provide future heirs. There had been some small hope, however, that she might have a say in the matter when the time came. Obviously, she had hoped in vain. She hadn't expected to be dazzled by choice, but the _Kingslayer?_ After a lifetime of being taught to value honor, to judge a man by his deeds and not his words, was he really to be her fate?

Her father didn't mean it as an insult, and she knew the dire straits they were in, but Jaime Lannister's deeds had shown him for what he was long ago, and now her father was asking her to _marry_ him.

He gave her a resigned look. "You must have honor enough for two."

She slumped. Even hunched over, she could look her father in the eye. She was aware, had always been aware, of her freakish stature and her unfortunate appearance. She was also aware of Jaime's rumored physical perfection.

_What a farce._

"When?" she asked.

"As soon as he and his entourage arrive," her father replied. That seemed to settle the matter, though Brienne felt oddly shaken as she retreated to the waterfront. Tarth's famously blue waters glittered at her, but for once their charm brought her no joy.

_The future Lady of Casterly Rock,_ she thought. _The Seven are mocking me._

And so, she knew, would everyone else. 


	2. Chapter 2

The wedding preparations were a rushed, almost haphazard affair. Wildflowers were picked from coastal valleys, seashells plucked from the sand and a huge quantity of seafood hauled in from the fishermen's nets. Seamstresses labored long into the night to create a gown fine enough to serve as Bienne's wedding dress. The proportions were absurd and every fitting left Brienne in a foul temper. She was ill-suited for finery, but she couldn't be wed in a hauberk, or so she was told.

A lookout was posted to watch for the Lannister's hired ships. Sometimes Brienne visited whatever poor soul sat perched in the lighthouse, not because she was eager to catch sight of her intended but because few would think to look for her there.

Sword practice became an almost punishing affair, especially for her opponents. Any suggestion that she would be expected to give up such martial arts after her wedding only inspired more brutal training regimens, and her father ordered that it no longer be mentioned in Brienne's hearing.

Nothing could stop the march of days however, and the white sails were spotted on the horizon far sooner than she'd hoped.

The lions had arrived. Well, she was determined not to meet them feeling like a sheep. She may not be permitted to marry in a hauberk, but she would be damned if she would welcome them on the dockside in some piece of embroidered foppery. The sword strapped to her hip seemed to dissuade any such suggestions of attire, although her father visibly paled when he realized she would be introduced to her betrothed whilst wearing breeches.

A pang of guilt swept through her at the sight of his dismay, but by then it was too late. The Queen herself was leading a red-and-gold parade up the pier and onto solid ground. Her eyes swept the party with barely concealed displeasure. Then she backtracked to Brienne, staring at the breeches wrapped tight over muscular legs.

"How unconventional," she said in a velvet voice that dripped with disdain. It didn't seem to occur to her that she was looking at her future sister-by-marriage. Her gaze had already moved on to Selwyn.

"Your island is beautiful, but perhaps we could delay the introductions until after we've refreshed ourselves? Then I would be most happy to greet my future sister."

"You have greeted me, your Grace," Brienne said, sweeping into a bow. A curtsy would look ridiculous while she wore breeches, and she was certain she looked foolish enough as it was. "I am Brienne of Tarth."

There were murmurs, even giggles from some of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, and Brienne was prepared for shocked faces as she straightened from her bow. What she was not prepared for was the arrival of the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

He'd stepped up beside his royal twin just as she'd announced her identity, and Brienne immediately kicked herself for being so forward. She might have least spared them both an hour or so of humiliation if she'd kept her mouth shut.

She was surprised to see that, though Queen Cersei openly flinched, Ser Jaime's only response to her declaration was a pair of slightly widened green eyes and a tightened jaw.

He was just as unfairly attractive as he was rumored to be.

Behind the perfect twins there was a harsh bark of laughter, and Ser Jaime stepped aside to reveal his brother, the Imp. Lord Tyrion, Brienne scolded herself. She knew better than anyone what it was to be judged solely by an unusual appearance.

"This may be the first wedding I've ever been glad to be invited to," he said, moving forward without any regard for rank or pretense. "We Lannisters are collecting quite a grotesquerie, aren't we? But you mustn't take me too seriously, my lady. I often say things I shouldn't, and I'm told it's not nearly so charming a trait as I like to think."

He patted her hand when he saw the hurt flash across her eyes. Something softened in his mismatched gaze as they looked at each other, each one end of an absurd extreme, and he gave her an encouraging smile. "I think I shall be glad to call you sister, my lady," he said for her ears alone, and Brienne was startled by the unexpected kindness in the words.

Brienne truly didn't know how to respond to that, but Tyrion took pity on her and moved on, greeting her father and asking him about the history of the island. The Queen managed to compose herself as well. She turned her icy gaze away and led the party toward the waiting litters and horses. Brienne glanced at her betrothed once more, but his gaze was following his sister. He still looked oddly expressionless, but that was better than the open scorn Brienne had braced herself for.

With a heavy sigh, Brienne followed the wedding party to Evenfall hall.

******

A great feast had been prepared to welcome the wedding guests. There seemed to be an endless procession of seafood, and Tyrion was entertaining some of the party with tales of how dragons used to fish in the waters around Tarth when nearby Summerhall had been a Targaryen pleasure palace. Between three hours of fish and Cersei's hostile, disbelieving gaze, Jaime found he had little appetite. Despite being a guest of honor, he slipped out and made his way down to the beach. He had no doubt that he'd be searched for sooner rather than later, but for the moment the night air was a much-needed balm. The stars shined down but they seemed cold and distant. Lord Selwyn Tarth was the Evenstar, a pretty title that might someday pass to him. Along with Lord of the Rock and perhaps even _Your Majesty_.

All he had to do was marry a freak.

He'd never expected to get married. He'd understood long ago that he could not marry Cersei and had decided then and there that he would not bind himself to anyone else. A lifetime of attention from beautiful, highborn ladies had never swayed him from her side. Yet here he was, on the verge of marrying a woman who wore breeches and was at least an inch or two taller than he was.

The teeth, the straw-hair, the freckles and muscles and somber expression…none of it tempted him in the least. He'd been a moment away from turning around and returning to the ship that afternoon when Brienne had lifted her gaze to him and he'd caught sight of her eyes. They were at least as blue as the ocean around them, astonishing eyes. Tortured eyes.

One look at those eyes told him that she didn't want him any more than he wanted her.

_Stupid wench. She's uglier than my horse, barely better off than the lowborn peasants that fish for her food, and marrying the heir of one of the greatest Houses in the land, and she's miserable,_ he thought. He stooped, picked a rock out of the sand, and hurled it into the ocean.

It might have been humorous if it wasn't a lifetime sentence.

"Attempting to drown yourself?" Tyrion's amused voice drifted to him from the direction of the still-celebrating castle. "Surely the situation is not as dire as that."

Jaime didn't answer. Tyrion waddled over to him, picking his way carefully across the sand. They stood side by side and contemplated the dark Straits of Tarth in silence for a moment.

"Poor girl," Tyrion said at last. "Even she's aware of what a farce this is. She hasn't asked too many questions, but she looks as though she's resigned herself to the gallows."

"Poor girl?" Jaime gave a bitter laugh.

"It is my honest opinion that you are getting a far better deal than she is," his brother replied. "I may have only known the lady for a few hours, but I've known you for a lifetime, and I'm not at all sure she deserves what she's about to get."

"She's as comely as a she-bear and she fancies herself a knight. _A knight._ "

"I should think that would be a comfort. At least you'll have that in common. You can discuss swords and battles and whatever else you martial types are interested in." Tyrion shot him a penetrating gaze. "You can never have the woman you want, we both know that. But you need not even live with Brienne of Tarth. Leave her here, I daresay she'll be happier for it."

"I doubt father will let me leave her here until there's a baby in her belly. And who knows what else he's plotting," Jaime replied with a frown.

"Yes," his brother agreed darkly. "That has been on my mind as well."

Another silence fell between them, and then Tyrion gave Jaime a small shove. "I've been sent to fetch you back to the feast. But don't worry, brother, I'm sure it will be over soon. The happy couple need their rest before the big day tomorrow."

"Sometimes I hate you," Jaime said lightly, though he was already turning back toward the castle.

"Shame, I'm always so overcome with affection for you," Tyrion retorted, and they laughed together as they made their way across the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the wedding day...and night!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is nearly as long as the other two combined...but I really wanted to get through the wedding ceremony and the wedding night! Thank you for supporting me and this story!

On another woman, the wedding gown might have been perfect. Dark blue silk and silver satin, gleaming suns and moons embroidered in a filigree pattern along the hems and over the bodice, all complimented by a sapphire and pearl necklace which had been one of the few pieces of jewelry Brienne had ever coveted. It had been her mother's, and though it looked strange on her thickly muscled neck, she refused to enter the sept without it.

The seamstresses had done what they could to give her a womanly shape. Padding had been added at the hips in the hopes that she would present the illusion of a waist. Her small breasts were emphasized by the embroidery on the bodice, though her shoulders remained too wide and muscular for this to have any real effect. Her hair, cropped brutally short so her sparring partners could not use it against her, was covered in a headpiece of silver with white wildflowers.

It was all a work of great skill and beauty, and on Brienne it looked as ridiculous as it would have on a horse. She had to fight her instinct to curl in on herself protectively, to flee back to her chambers and pull on her usual doublet and breeches. The gown left her feeling as vulnerable as if she were about to parade across the island naked, and it took great willpower to square her shoulders and lift her chin high.

Her father's eyes gleamed when he saw her, but he didn't shed any tears. Instead, he gently covered her with her maiden's cloak and said softly, so only she could hear, "Courage, my darling."

The walk to the sept was too short. Time was doing strange things, speeding up or slowing down at the most inopportune moments. Brienne was halfway to the septon and alter before she realized that she was truly about to be married. That it really was Jaime Lannister waiting for her at the end of the aisle, with a squire holding the Lannister colors beside him. She was about to be draped in those colors, supposedly cloaked in the protection of her husband's House, but was anyone safe in a lion's den?

A shiver ran through her. She had barely registered the guests all staring at her as she walked past them. There were murmurs and looks of ill-disguised amusement or sadness from the Queen's entourage, but Brienne's attention was focused on her soon-to-be husband. He stood as tall and proud as ever, his beauty nearly painful in the sunlight streaming in from the large windows above him. A perfect, golden knight; the only flaw was the grim set of his jaw and the cold emerald of his eyes.

Again, Brienne fought off the urge to curl into herself. She had never lacked for courage, she wouldn't start now. She made it through the final steps to the septon without faltering. Her father gave her a kiss on the cheek and squeezed her hand before slipping off to the side to receive her maiden's cloak.

She was distracted through much of what followed. She kept glancing at Jaime's profile, studying his expression. His face was a mask and he made no attempt to meet her eyes. He watched the septon with impressive detachment, and only turned to her when it was time to fold her into the Lannister's mantle.

He took the bride's cloak from the squire. It was a thing of beauty: heavy crimson brocade and cloth-of-gold. It was also new, unlike the cloak Brienne was already wearing. This was no family heirloom, as Tarth's was. The true Lannister shroud was no doubt packed away carefully at Casterly Rock, awaiting the chance to don the shoulders of a more deserving lady.

Jaime pulled Tarth's weathered cloak from her and, with an impressive flourish, enveloped her in red and gold. Brienne again tried to read his expression and was again met with stony impassivity. His colors felt heavy on her shoulders, suffocating rather than protective, but she resisted the urge to tug the fabric off as the septon lifted his crystal high above their heads and pronounced them man and wife.

In that moment, warm fingers touched her chin. Awareness ran through her blood like fire—her husband was touching her for the very first time, and she sucked in a breath at the unexpected sensation.

He kissed her still-parted lips.

It was just a touch, just the barest brush of his warm mouth against hers, but suddenly there was no air left in Brienne's lungs. Her heart had thudded out of control and electricity seemed to shoot through her blood. What was happening to her?

He leaned back and for the first time that day, she saw a hint of emotion on his face. It was the tiniest curl of his lips; a smirk at the stunned look on her face. Brienne quickly composed herself again, but her cheeks were no doubt blazing with color.

No one had warned her that kissing was like _that._

"Fortify yourself, my lady," he murmured to her. "We still need to survive the festivities."

Brienne felt a chill as she thought about the celebrations still to come: another feast, tumblers and fools and dancers and music, and then… If possible, her cheeks became even hotter.

_And then the bedding. Seven save me, how could I have forgotten?_

******

The wench didn't even _blush_ prettily. Jaime stalked away from his bride as soon as possible, which wasn't until the entire wedding party had returned to the Great Hall. Even as he'd sworn oaths to honor and protect his new lady (always more oaths, he seemed to be drowning in promises), he'd felt as though some sort of trap was closing around him. Cersei had glared at him the entire time as well, adding timber to his already blazing temper.

And then of course there was Brienne and her bloody blue eyes, staring across at him as though he was some sort of riddle. He tried and failed not to think of their first brief contact at the alter. Even that not-quite kiss had sent a shock down his spine. The memory of that little mystery was only adding to his discomfort, and Brienne's unflinching gaze was rapidly getting under his skin. He hoped she'd knock it off or else he'd be put off his food for the second night in a row.

The feasting part of the day seemed to drag on for an eternity. Brienne sat at his right at the head of the table, but she hardly spoke, and her expression grew grim as the hours went by. She refused to dance with anyone, but that suited his mood just fine. They would only be gawped at, and he'd had his fill of that.

It was bad enough he'd been married to an ugly wench, but did she have to be so damn dour?

"You're not eating, my lord," she said.

No, he'd been too busy with his ale to partake in crab cakes and oysters. "Don't worry, I'm well satisfied."

"So I see." Brienne's gaze touched his rapidly emptying cup.

"Wedded for a few hours and you're already chiding me. Marital bliss is living up to its reputation," he quipped. His voice was not kind. Her eyes narrowed on his face.

"If only I'd been warned that my husband is a drunk as well as a Kingslayer," she replied.

Jaime's fists tightened. "Consider us even. After all, no one warned me I was marrying a hideous beast."

Brienne's spine stiffened and they lapsed back into silence. He could feel the hostility coming off of her in waves, and he replenished the ale in his cup. He spotted Tyrion trying to hide an amused grin and shot his brother a glare. Nor was there any comfort from his sister, sitting in the place of highest honor and looking as though she was carved out of ice. She was glorious, beautiful—and, as ever, out of reach.

Then, all at once, some of the squires at the back of the hall began calling for the bedding.

The color immediately drained from Brienne's face. Those eyes—summer eyes—were so filled with dismay that all at once, Jaime felt a slight softening toward her. She reminded him so much of Tyrion when he was a boy; aware of her unforgivable awkwardness and prickly in her own defense, but underneath it all was fear and a hope for genuine kindness. He might have reached over and touched her hand to reassure her, but he was already being dragged from his seat.

Bawdy jokes filled the air as the men swept Jaime out of the Great Hall. Brienne stared after him with wide eyes, caught in her own tide of teasing women. Some of the japes were cruel: what was normally a bit of fun at the couple's expense was turning into an opportunity to mock Brienne's mannish appearance. The men were no kinder. They offered him boar spears and crossbows to keep his 'fair' bride away, compared their bedchamber to a bear pit, a hundred other clever little indignities…

She didn't cry.

He had to admire her strength in that. He supposed she'd built up an immunity to their words over the years, though she remained pale enough that he knew she'd carry their japes with her.

The couple was shoved into the bridal chamber and forcibly stripped to their undergarments. While Brienne was shoved into a nightgown behind a screen, Jaime silently begged Cersei to call a stop to this ridiculous display. She only met his gaze and smiled. It was a cruel smile, as though she was exacting some sort of revenge against him for something he hadn't even wanted.

It was Selwyn that called the guests back to the Great Hall. He stood in the hallway and implored them all to join him at the gaming tables, and slowly the chamber emptied of all but the septon. Jaime and Brienne stood next to the old man as he blessed their marital bed, mumbling prayers to the Seven for Brienne's obedience and fertility and Jaime's honor and virility. He didn't look at her legs, which seemed endless under her thin gown. He looked instead at their feet, so similar in size, and wondered how he would get through the next part of the evening.

The septon left with one last blessing, and they were alone.

"Ser Jaime," Brienne said, her back as stiff as a board, but he cut her off as he moved around the room, extinguishing lamps and candles until only the two nearest the bed remained lit.

"Just Jaime. We're married. We may as well leave off the honorifics." His irritation was returning quickly at the thought of what they both must endure. He hadn't been with a woman since he'd realized he was in love with Cersei, yet he must betray her at last. There must be a child if he and Brienne were ever to be free of each other.

"I don't know what your expectations are this night, but—"

"I expect," he told her drily as he crossed around the bed to climb in, "to blow out the lights and get on with it as best I can. They say all women are the same in the dark. Even your face can't put me off if I can't see it."

Still, Brienne stood by the bed. It was the first time he'd seen her courage falter.

"Come on wench, climb in and let's get this over with. I shall be gentle, I promise."

She hesitated for a moment more, and then she slid into the bed with all the grace of a newborn foal. Jaime blew out the candle on his side, and Brienne did the same, plunging the chamber into full darkness at last. He closed his eyes and tried to will his body to obey him, then he turned and reached for Brienne. He drew her toward his body, one hand moving to lift her night gown and touch her meager breasts—

Something very cold brushed his stomach and he jumped.

"Careful, my lord husband, for my knife is quite sharp." Brienne's voice was almost sensual. "They'll look for blood on the sheets in the morning, but it does not have to be _my_ blood."

"By all the gods…do you always go to bed with a knife, wench?" Jaime asked as he released her and slid away.

"Not always. Only when I'm told I must sleep beside a lion."

Jaime laughed, surprising them both. "No doubt a wise precaution. I won't even ask where you had it hidden." There was a pause, and then he added, "You know what we must do as well as I. Tonight, a week from now, a year from now…what difference does it make?"

"Just stay on your side, Kingslayer."

It was as if she'd spat in his face. Any earlier kindness he might have felt for her disappeared with those words.

"Have it your way. Try not to slide that knife between my shoulders while I sleep. My father is rather fond of me despite my myriad flaws."

Brienne didn't answer. She turned her back to him and drew the sheets high up around her ears, as though to block him out. Jaime glanced at her, sighed, and turned away as well.

 _She's even more stubborn than she is ugly,_ he thought, but then he thought of the knife against his belly and smirked. At least her new sigil seemed to suit: there could be no doubt that she had the potential to be a proper lioness. His father might be in for a surprise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I posted on FF.net, so both accounts are up to date now. I don't have a set updating schedule but I try to do at least a bi-weekly update. I don't have a beta so all mistakes are mine!

The wedding party departed, but Jaime and Brienne remained on Tarth for the next fortnight. Jaime was not pleased to be left behind, pretty as the isle might be. He had no idea what his father was planning or how it was Brienne could be next in line for the throne when there were two fully grown Baratheon brothers to consider, but Tywin refused to edify him via raven. News from King's Landing was slow: the whole realm knew that King Robert was ill and they all seemed to be waiting. The stubborn man held on, and Jaime had no doubt he was taking a grim satisfaction in defying everyone's expectations for his swift demise even when there was little hope he'd recover.

In the meantime, life fell into a comfortable, if unusual, rhythm on Tarth. Despite the pressure to produce the next generation of Lannister heirs, Brienne insisted that they keep separate suites of chambers. Jaime didn't argue with her too much: he wasn't exactly keen on consummating their ridiculous union, and even if she had been a beautiful maiden, the idea of going to bed with a reluctant woman held little appeal for him.

Their sleeping arrangements did lead to rumors, though. Brienne's moniker of "Maid of Tarth," already something of a quip, took on a more mocking air. Everyone on the island knew about the lack of intimacy between the pair, but Brienne took the brunt of the mockery. Like she had on their wedding night, she simply lifted her chin higher and pretended not to hear it. Jaime's reluctant admiration of her grew. Tyrion had always said he was the one with a soft spot for the unfortunates of the realm, but perhaps that was a trait shared by both brothers.

Together, the pair explored the island. Selwyn encouraged this and instructed the kitchens to prepare them dinners that could easily be carried with them. Brienne showed him the waterfalls, trekked him halfway up the mountain so that he could see the whole of the Straits of Tarth while she explained the importance of her father's stronghold. Should he desire to hunt, Brienne had shown him the best places to stalk the small island deer in the sparse woodlands. He insisted on exploring a sea cave and even laughed at the antics of the seals which rested on the rocky beaches of the island's northern shoreline. She told him pirate stories as they wandered through the abandoned palace of Summerhall.

She wasn't bad company, he was discovering. Unlike many women he'd known in King's Landing, her training meant that she could easily keep up with him no matter how demanding a pace he set. In fact, he was beginning to think she could outdistance him. She hiked and climbed right along side him without worrying about her clothing or the fact that they would both end up dirty and covered in sweat. She was undoubtedly too serious and prickly about the subjects of honor and duty, but she occasionally startled him with the same sort of sharp humor he might have expected from Tyrion.

It was almost too easy to tease her, and the way her face went blotchy with outrage was the one silver lining of their unfortunate circumstances. This was a woman that fought back.

He'd just broken his fast on the fifteenth morning of his stay when he heard the clash of steel on steel. He wandered in the direction of the training yard and there was his lady wife, battering away at the Master of Arms. She was taller than the man and clearly stronger: her hammering soon made the older man stagger back, his guard faltering as she bashed at his shield with her blade. She brought it down the way one might swing an axe, and he could see the powerful muscles in her back and shoulders moving beneath her shirt. It was stuck to her with sweat. She'd clearly been at it for a while.

"My lady," he said. Brienne and the Master at Arms broke off and turned to him.

"My lord husband," she replied, panting and wary at his interruption. The Master at Arms only seemed relieved that the punishment had ceased for a few minutes.

"An impressive display. I'm not sure you'd last long in battle, but perhaps that wouldn't be an issue. The attacking armies might retreat at the sight of such a fearsome woman waiting for them."

Brienne's hand tightened around her sword hilt. "If you don't mind, my lord, I'd prefer to get on without an audience."

"You need a better opponent," he said. "You can learn no more from your present companion."

Those blue eyes widened in surprise, and then she narrowed them at him. "I have no desire to train with you."

He barked out a laugh. "I wasn't offering."

"Of course not. It wouldn't do for the 'finest swordsman in the realm' to be bested by a woman." She shrugged and turned away.

"You really think you could beat me?" Jaime laughed again. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be much of a competition, my lady."

"You may have renown, Ser, but I have been fighting men all my life, men who turn savage at the thought of being beaten by a woman. Men that jumped me in the night after being embarrassed, keen to put me into my place. Perhaps even trying to kill me."

"Yes well, men _have_ tried to kill me," Jaime replied. "Survive a battle or two, my lady, and perhaps then we can compare notes."

"Have it your way, Ser." She lifted her sword again. "Perhaps one day we'll find out."

He gave her a mocking bow and then headed back inside. At least she hadn't started in on him about his lost honor and how she'd make a much better knight than he, how she would honor her oaths even if it cost her life. They fought that battle frequently, until Jaime stomped away from her in a towering rage. For some reason, her scorn infuriated him far more than anyone else's. He'd heard similar comments for years, but the derision of lesser men concerned him little. From her…well, she meant it more than they did.

No one got under his skin like she did. Still irritated, he headed toward his rooms to change into something more appropriate for exploring. He hadn't made it very far, however, when a servant boy caught up with him. He was clutching a small roll of parchment, still sealed with a dab of crimson wax. The boy held it out to him.

"A message, Ser, from King's Landing. The maester said it says urgent and to bring it to you straight away."

"Good lad," Jaime said, though the second the boy handed over the message he'd stopped paying attention to him. The word 'urgent' was indeed written over the dab of wax, and he broke it to reveal a message written in his father's precise hand.

It was a summons to King's Landing. And when they arrived, Jaime intended to get some answers.

******

Brienne had heard rumors about Jaime Lannister's good looks and prowess in battle long before they'd met. What she had not been prepared for was the man's charm. He employed it often, with devastating effect, and it took more effort than she would have liked to resist it. She'd found herself relaxing in his presence, sometimes even enjoying their explorations, and every night she gave herself a stern mental lecture. His pretty face didn't absolve him of regicide, and his emerald green eyes didn't outweigh his dishonor.

What had been most surprising, however, was his casual acceptance of her training. He didn't seem to take her skill seriously—no man ever did, until she knocked him into the dust—but nor did he order her to stop. In fact, he'd encouraged her to find someone who could teach her more.

Every time she began to let her guard slip, however, he flung a casual insult her way. Brienne was almost grateful for it: it allowed her to maintain her walls, and her heart had been trampled on enough as it was. No lion was going to sink his claws into it.

She had finished her training with the Master at Arms and was asking the servants to prepare her a bath when her husband found her. His manner was anxious and he held out a slip of parchment to her before she could ask what had happened.

"King's Landing…" Brienne felt her heart rate begin to speed up. She'd left Tarth before to follow the tourney circuit, but she had usually avoided the capitol. Her father had always said it was a den of snakes and worse, and she had never found a reason compelling enough to go see for herself. "I see no need to accompany you."

"You'll learn," Jaime said drily, "that a summons from my father is as good as an order. Besides, he desires to meet his new daughter. Ignoring his invitation would be an insult."

Brienne hesitated, but she couldn't find an argument to counter that. With her own House in so much need, offending her new father-by-marriage was out of the question. She heaved a sigh. "Very well, I'll see to the packing."

There was something about this summons that wasn't sitting well with her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Jaime's eyes were studying her face, but whatever he was thinking he kept to himself. She saw that he shared some of her discomfort but if he wouldn't confide in her, she saw no reason to confide in him.

They stared at each other for a moment more, and then both returned to their chambers to prepare for the journey.

******

It was a relief to ride into the inner bailey of the Red Keep. Jaime had been made to endure the earnest blue gaze of his wife throughout the journey, and he almost hadn't resisted the urge to shake her by the shoulders and remind her that he didn't know anything more than she did.

That wasn't strictly true, of course, but his knowledge of his father's plotting was so vague that he felt just as left in the dark as she was.

She climbed down from her horse without any aid, ignoring the servants as she studied the massive structure looming over them. Jaime didn't give the Keep a second glance. He saw that their horses were to be cared for after their journey and sent a serving boy running to his father with news of their arrival. Only then did he turn his attention back to Brienne.

"Why don't you get settled into our rooms? I needs must attend my father."

Brienne stared at him. She seemed to understand that she wouldn't be welcome at this particular family reunion, and Jaime braced himself to argue with her. They always argued. It was a relief, therefore, when she suddenly acceded and turned to have a servant guide her to their borrowed chambers.

He watched her disappear into the Keep and as its shadow engulfed her, he felt a sudden chill ran down his back. He didn't believe in premonitions or anything of the like, but he had a vague sense of looming dread.

It lingered with him as headed to his brother's chambers. Their father usually appropriated those rooms when he came to the capitol, banishing Tyrion to more modest quarters. As he walked, he strengthened his resolve: this time, his father _would_ tell him exactly how he intended to put Brienne on the throne.

Still lost in thought, he walked right into a fierce bout of familial discord.

"If it's a queen you want, father, you might consider leaving me on the throne," Cersei hissed across the table the family was sitting around, still beautiful in her rage.

"And if _you_ had done your duty and provided Robert with a child, you may have kept your seat as the Queen Regent. Because you did not do your duty, you must retire as the Dowager Queen instead," their father replied. Cersei's obvious displeasure didn't seem to have ruffled his control, but then they were all long used to her rages.

"I am an anointed sovereign—"

"There is no precedent for a queen ruling on her own after the king dies."

"Then _create_ a precedent."

"Don't be stupid. No one would support it. We'd alienate every House in the realm and lose whatever power we may have hoped to keep. There is _one way_ we seize the Iron Throne, and that is through Brienne of Tarth," Tywin snapped.

"Forgive me father, but I'm still unclear on the finer points of this plan. It does occur to me that Stannis will have an objection or two to your grand plan. And then of course the lady herself may not be inclined to cooperate," Tyrion said as he poured himself a goblet of wine.

"That is why we must act at precisely the right time. Robert is too sick to impose his will, but even if he wasn't, Stannis is the last man he'd wish to hand his crown to. Few in the realm would be pleased if Stannis came to the Iron Throne, least of all the rest of the Small Council." Tywin sent Tyrion's goblet a disapproving glance as he gestured to Jaime to take a seat at the table.

"But if you take a revised act of succession to the Small Council to be ratified, Stannis will not only refuse to sign, he'll be forewarned of your plan." Tyrion frowned. "You'll have a rebellion to face down before the throne is even empty."

"Nonsense. If we take the act of succession to the Small Council in Robert's last hours, Stannis will still be on the Kingsroad when we hold the coronation. The majority of the Small Council will be enough to ratify the change, and they would certainly rather have an inexperienced heiress from a minor House on the throne than Stannis Baratheon. She will be easily led, a puppet we can rule through. Once she is the anointed sovereign, she will be urged to invest Jaime as her king and install myself as their Hand."

Jaime felt a chill. "This plan is far from certain—"

Tywin cut him off. "Of course it is. I've been in negotiations for weeks, it's all but settled."

"And when Stannis raises an army? The North may rise for him," Tyrion said. Uncharacteristically, he had not touched the full goblet of wine in his hand. He was entirely focused on shaping the coming game. He'd always been better at politics than Jaime.

"The North won't rise without the Starks."

"And how do you propose to keep them from allying with Robert's brother? Ned Stark is far too honorable not to fight for Stannis' rights."

"He won't if the crown is passed over legally, but even if he considered calling his banners for Stannis, there is a way to make him think twice."

"What way is that?" Jaime asked. He was more than familiar with Ned Stark's unyielding sense of honor. His wife shared the same unbending ideals. It was astoundingly annoying.

"Marriage." Tywin's cold eyes settled on Tyrion. "You can finally be of some use to the family. We will betroth you to the eldest daughter."

Tyrion nearly spilled his wine. He was gripping the goblet so hard that his knuckles were white. "Sansa Stark is a child."

"Sansa Stark could be the key to maintaining peace in the North, and you will do as I say. The Starks will want a union with the ruling family. Besides, it need not be more than a betrothal. When things have settled and Jaime is secure on the throne, we may revisit the issue."

Cersei had gone pale and statuesque. There was something cold and terrible in her eyes. "And me, father? Which House am I to act as brood mare for this time? The Martells? The Freys?"

"Highgarden. Jon Arryn will follow Ned Stark's lead, so we don't have to worry about the east. A marriage to Highgarden will secure the south, ensure the trade routes with Dorne remain open and feed our armies should Stannis ride to war."

Cersei's eyes closed. She so white she might have been carved from ice. Jaime half expected another burst of rage, but she stayed silent.

"Well, it appears you've thought of everything, father." Tyrion saluted him with his goblet and drained it in a few long gulps. He looked even more sour yet resigned than Cersei. Jaime felt the stirrings of anger. His life had been upended so that his father could grab for the throne, but he'd never wanted a damn crown. He still didn't want it.

"That's the plan? You're going to make me a king and then pull my strings like a puppet?"

Tywin turned his eyes to his eldest. "I am making you king, yes. I should think after that our goals will align themselves."

"And if I refuse?"

His father's stare was merciless. "Then you will be replaced. But I didn't think that needed to be said."

Replaced. _An accident. Tyrion takes the Rock, unless the same accident befalls him…and what of Brienne? What happens to her if I refuse?_

He couldn't bring himself to agree to his father's plan out loud, so he nodded instead. He'd play along for now as it didn't seem like he had a choice, but he vowed to himself that he wouldn't be used any more than necessary. After all, once he had a crown, anything might happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Tywin has just outlined the broad plan for putting Brienne on the throne and protecting her claim...but this is a GOT story. Plans always seem to go awry. It's also worth noting that I don't feel as though Tywin would tell anyone-even his own children-the full extent of his plans to gain power.
> 
> One day I might write a one-shot about Jaime and Brienne's exploration of Tarth as a fun side project. Now we'll really start to see their relationship develop.
> 
> Thanks again for reading this! There's a lot more to come!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm loosely basing this story off of what happened to the real-life Lady Jane Grey. When Henry VIII's son Edward realized he was dying, he was reluctant to pass the throne on to either Mary or Elizabeth I (he was Protestant and didn't want the ultra-Catholic Mary to take over, and he didn't know which side Elizabeth truly favored), so he revised the Act of Succession to place his cousin Jane first in line for the throne. She was also forced into marrying the son of one of Edward's chief advisors, Guildford Dudley.
> 
> When Edward died, Jane did become Queen of England...for nine days. Then Mary arrived in London with an army and placed Jane under arrest. Eventually (and tragically, since Jane never believed she had the right to be queen) she and her husband were beheaded for treason.
> 
> Brienne's story isn't going to be a carbon copy of this, but I did take it as a guide for how Stannis and Renly might also have been legally passed over in the line of succession in favor of Brienne (who in this story is their cousin). After all, Robert didn't really seem to like his brothers and no one in canon had a lot of faith in Stannis' ability to rule, so I decided it wouldn't be so far-fetched for the Small Council to go along with a change. Especially because Brienne is going to need a LOT of help to rule.

Jaime returned to the apartments he and Brienne would share during their stay in the Red Keep. Encounters with his father usually left him feeling both hamstrung and ill-tempered, and this last family reunion was no different. He forced himself not to stomp into their new living quarters. No doubt they’d be in shambles as their belongings were being unpacked.

But they weren’t. Brienne was directing the servants efficiently as they brought up trunks and wardrobes. She was unpacking as well, though most of what she’d brought with her from Tarth were her weapons and a few small mementos of her family. Her collection of clothes was pitiful and if she’d brought a gown to the capitol, he’d yet to see it. Whether she liked it or not, they’d have to remedy that. Particularly if…

He pushed the thoughts of a possible coronation out of his mind.

“My lady,” he said as he joined her.

“Ser Jaime.” She cast him a cautious look. “Is everything alright?”

He cast a glance around the room at the servants still working. They looked busy and uninterested, but he’d lived in King’s Landing long enough not to trust a single one of them. He only nodded and steered the conversation to safe waters.

“You’ll have to have some gowns made,” he started, and when his wife opened her mouth to protest he cut her off with a brief wave of his hand. “I don’t care if you choose to wear motley, Brienne, but we’re at court. Wear a doublet all day if it please you, but there will be times when it isn’t advisable.”

“I have no desire to attend court functions, Ser Jaime. And I won’t put you through the ordeal of escorting me to them.”

He held onto his temper. “I’m afraid these aren’t invitations that one refuses. Usually attendance is compulsory.”

Brienne blew out an impatient breath. “I don’t understand why we’re here at all. You’re no longer a member of the Kingsguard and I am no great lady. Shouldn’t we have gone on to Casterly Rock?”

“You _are_ a great lady now.” Jaime rubbed the spot between his eyebrows, hoping to drain away some of the tension lingering there. One thing was for certain: she did _not_ belong here. King’s Landing was not kind to the idealistic and it would not reward her virtues. “This is where my sister has commanded me to be, and as she is queen…”

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other. Brienne’s gaze was far too keen. What she lacked in cunning and intrigue she made up for with intuition, and Jaime actually felt his cheeks begin to warm before he tore his eyes away.

“As you say,” was her only response, but Jaime still felt somehow exposed. He left her in her bedchamber, passing through an adjoining door to his own without another word. _Damn those eyes_ , he thought. And how was it that he always seemed to come away the worse from their little sparring matches?

 

******

 

The first few days were quiet, as quiet as King’s Landing had ever been. The city went about its business as always, but everything seemed subdued. A current of uncertainty was running beneath that calm, but Robert lingered on. He was, Jaime understood, mostly unconscious. Rumors of poison came whispering from the gutters, but the Grand Maester was more pragmatic: the king’s great bulk was killing him. His heart was struggling too hard and would soon give up the battle. Cersei was preparing her mourning clothes with barely concealed relish. Jaime left her after watching her select the black satin for the principle court gown. Her icy glee at the thought of being free from her husband was a ghastly thing to observe, and he found himself seeking the shelter of his chambers.

He received a somewhat unpleasant jolt when he discovered that his wife was entertaining a guest. Varys only smiled guilelessly at him as he entered their rooms.

“Ser Jaime, how glad I am to see you. I hope you don’t mind my stopping by to make my acquaintance with your wife,” the eunuch said. Brienne also turned to look at Jaime, and her brow furrowed when she saw the troubled look on his face.

He wasn’t sure where it had come from, but Jaime felt a sudden urge to protect his lady wife. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t capable of physically defending herself: he knew she was, he’d seen her train at arms now more than once. But she was completely out of her depth with schemers and spies like Varys, and he nearly ordered her away from him immediately.

“I’ll be taking my leave now, but it was so edifying to meet you, Lady Brienne.” Varys stood and bowed over Brienne’s hand. “I hope we shall become friends.”

“Yes, thank you, Lord Varys.” Brienne’s tone was a mix of warm and wary, but she gave the eunuch a smile. Jaime’s hand curled into a fist.

_Just what are you planning, Varys? What do you know?_

The other made his way to the door, moving gracefully in spite of his bulk. He stopped just before exiting and turned back to Brienne.

“Just as an aside, I think you’ll be interested to know that Lord Renly serves with me on the Small Council, my lady. I know he’d be glad to see you again.”

Brienne didn’t reply, but her face went a shade of red that Jaime had not previously seen. She blushed from her chest to the tops of her ears, and he gaped at her for a moment. What was it about Renly that caused her to react so strongly?

“Goodbye, Varys,” he said firmly. The eunuch’s smile widened for a moment before he gave them both a slight bow and disappeared. Jaime made sure the door was shut behind him before he turned to his wife.

“Of course Renly is here.” Brienne took a long, slow breath. The flush had faded but her cheeks were still pink.

“He is a member of the Small Council,” Jaime commented, studying her closely. “You know him?”

“We met once on Tarth. He was kind to me.” She refused to meet his gaze, and suddenly Jaime put the pieces together.

“You’re in love with him.”

Brienne’s eyes flew up to his and all at once, that bright red color swamped her freckled skin again. She got to her feet, untangling her long legs with a bit of difficulty, and made a hasty retreat for the door.

“I’m late for my training. Good day, husband,” she said. Before he could reach her, she’d fled their apartments and disappeared down the hall.

_Renly?_ Jaime frowned to himself. The man was handsome, but women had never seemed to hold much delight for him. Besides that, he was far too interested in pleasure and playing, he had very little real substance. Perhaps he was kind, but it was a surface kindness, and not the true goodness that his wife exemplified.

Well, they had bigger problems than her love life. Still he felt a pang at the thought of her pining uselessly after the youngest Baratheon while his father planned out her future as queen.

He had thought to go along with his father’s plan but he knew now, after seeing her with Varys and watching her lovesick response to the mere mention of Renly’s name, that Brienne would too easily fall prey to his father’s schemes. She could not outwit those that were circling around her, waiting for their chance at power; she hadn’t been brought up to play at high politics. And he had enough grudging affection for her to try and free her from their grasp.

If only there was time to come up with some sort of plan, if only he had stalled before bringing Brienne here in the first place... She was after all his wife, reluctant or no, and he had sworn to protect her. He _had_ to come up with something.

 

******

 

The next day, Brienne was at training when Jaime barged in. His face looked as though it had been carved of stone. He stepped into the ring, ignoring everyone but her, and clasped her arm.

“Come with me, my lady,” he said.

“Ser—I am in the middle of—”

“Brienne!” he snapped, and the stress in his voice made her freeze. “You’ll have to train later. For now you must come with me.”

She studied his expression for one more moment before nodding. He allowed her enough time to put away her training equipment and then he led her up to their chambers. He dismissed the servants and barred the doors, then he turned to Brienne and drew her very close.

Startled, she went stiff against his chest. “Ser Jaime, I hardly think we need to be this close in order to speak.”

He hissed at her to speak more softly. “Listen to me, we don’t have much time. My father has just come from King Robert’s chambers. He got the king to sign an Act of Succession which names you as his heir ahead of his brothers—”

Brienne cried out in shock, but Jaime tightened his grip on her arm and continued.

“He’s about to present this Act to the Small Council. He’s already ensured that the measure has enough support to be passed—but he expects Stannis to put up a fight. Once the Small Council ratifies the Act of Succession, they’ll crown you right away. There’s no time: you must leave the city. I can get you out, give you enough money to get to the Free Cities. After that…well, if I can, I’ll help you, but I doubt my father will take this betrayal kindly.”

“This is some elaborate jape—King Robert barely knows my name, why should he name me as his heir?” Brienne jerked her arm out of his grasp and moved away from him. Her body settled into a defensive stance, as if she was ready for him to try and forcibly remove her from their chambers. Jaime clenched his jaw and fought off the urge to do just that.

“Brienne, he’s swollen and feverish, he probably won’t last the night. Father waited until he could barely sign his own name.”

“Yet the Small Council believes I should rule? That it’s my duty to rule?”

_“Seven hells,_ ” he snapped, “I ought to have remembered your devotion to duty. Brienne—you can’t accept the crown, they’ll never let you rule for real and it’s _dangerous._ ”

Her eyes flashed at him, full of fire. She was not afraid of the danger, she could defend herself. She’d always wanted to be a knight in order to protect those that could not protect themselves. Her father had taught her that if she was ever in a position to safeguard the safety and happiness of others, she must do so regardless of what she might be asked to sacrifice. She had never wanted to be crowned, never imagined it possible, and yet if she was placed in such a powerful position…if from the Iron Throne she could serve the people of Westros…

She shook herself. It was absurd. If she was offered the crown, if the Small Council trusted her enough to rule, she would be duty bound to accept, to do her best for the realm and all the people in it. With the right Council, with the right Hand, many hurts in the Seven Kingdoms might be healed and many wrongs made right. And with Renly to help her—

But they would never truly put her on the throne. Would they?

“We can argue about it on the road.” Jaime had moved to her chests to begin packing some clothes for her escape. “Hurry, gather what you cannot leave without. We may only have a few hours, perhaps not even that long.”

“I hardly think that the Small Council is going to come through the door and hand me the crown—”

Even as she spoke, the sound of heavy knocks came from the barred doors. It was the captain of the guard, acting under the direction of the Small Council. He had been ordered to escort the Lady Lannister to the Council chambers.

Jaime froze, then turned to her with a pack stuffed full of clothing. He shoved it into her arms.

 “We can still go,” he said. There was a note in his voice that almost sounded like pleading. Brienne stared at him, for a moment stunned by his apparent concern for her. Then she squared her shoulders. She had never defied an order and she wasn’t going to start now. Jaime seemed to sense that he’d lost, and his shoulders slumped as she turned to unbar the door.

 “Lead the way, Captain,” she said to the waiting Gold Cloak. He gave her a slight bow and, ignoring Jaime completely, led her from the safety of their rooms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to be hard on Renly. I actually really enjoy his character, but I was trying to capture how Jaime might perceive his character.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little longer. My weekend ended up being wayyy busier than I thought it would be. Chapter 7 should NOT take that long to be posted.
> 
> Thank you for all the support! You are all amazing!

Events progressed quickly after Brienne left the room. Jaime considered following her and then decided he’d be more useful outside of the Council’s chambers. He sent a boy running down to the stables and then headed through the Red Keep toward the King’s private apartments. He didn’t expect to be granted entry, but he intended to gather as much information as he could firsthand.

As expected, his former brothers denied him entry into the King’s inner sanctum. Ser Barristan gave him a dull glance, as if he hardly remembered Jaime. Though Jaime’s dismissal from the Kingsguard had set a potentially dangerous precedent, he had little doubt that Barristan Selmy was glad to be rid of him.

He pushed his frustration aside. “Is he dead?”

Ser Barristan’s mouth twisted in distaste.

“You may as well tell me. I won’t leave until you do.”

“No,” Ser Barristan said, glowering. “The King lives, but the Grand Maester does not think he’ll wake again.”

Jaime nodded. This was the news he’d expected. Without another word, he turned his back on the two guards and headed down an adjoining hallway to the Queen’s apartments. Cersei’s power was slipping through her fingers as quickly as sand ran through an hourglass, but Jaime knew she’d cling to it for as long as she could. He didn’t expect her to curtsy and step aside when Brienne was crowned, but perhaps if _he_ talked to her…

That hope disappeared when one of Cersei’s ladies-in-waiting informed him that the Queen was in the Small Council’s chamber, overseeing the peaceful transfer of power from King Robert to his wife.

He was headed back to his own chambers when the boy he’d sent to the stables found him.

“M’lord, Lord Stannis and his men have ridden out. He ordered a steward to send his belongings after him. He didn’t say where he was headed, m’lord, but he was gone right quick and he looked sore displeased.”

“Good lad,” Jaime said and handed the boy a few silver stags. Then he continued on to the privacy of his own rooms. Stannis had moved just as quickly as Tywin had predicted. He needed to be ready to move quickly too.

******

Brienne had stood in front of the Small Council and the current queen with her chin high and her back straight…although her legs had felt a bit wobbly as they informed her that she had been officially invested as Robert Baratheon’s heir apparent. The King, they said, would be dead by dawn. As soon as he’d breathed his last, she would be crowned immediately. They were already preparing a coronation for the next day.

The entire time these things were being related to her, Cersei Lannister was staring at her with a small, cold smile. There was something smug about it that put Brienne on her guard. She was just as aware of Renly, though for different reasons. He looked uncharacteristically solemn, but it warmed Brienne’s heart that he was there. She’d already noticed that Stannis’ chair was empty.

“We don’t have time to order you the proper gowns for the coronation. I’m sure you understand,” Varys was saying. He was the only one in the chamber that offered her a genuine smile. “I hear your wedding gown was lovely, why don’t you dress in that?”

Brienne agreed, trying not to wince at the word wedding as she glanced involuntarily at Renly. He was looking at her—well, _through_ her, to be more accurate—but was too deep in his private thoughts to even flicker an eyelash.

“Very well, my Lords,” she agreed. She was glad she sounded serene, as Cersei’s icy smile and Stannis’ empty seat were starting to unnerve her. “My heart is heavy with the knowledge that my cousin is suffering, but I stand ready to accept the duties and responsibilities he has bequeathed me.”

That sounded suitably formal. She thought she saw Petyr Baelish hide an amused grin but it was so quickly done that she couldn’t be sure. Well, let him doubt her. Other men had, but she was still standing.

“Thank you, Lady Lannister. We’ll send word as soon as we know more,” Petyr told her. Brienne nodded to him, but she hadn’t failed to catch the sudden fury in Cersei’s eyes when he used her new name. She bowed to them all and left, wondering how much more of the queen’s wrath she’d incur when she’d taken the crown as well.

******

The news of King Robert’s death came in the middle of the night. In the morning, Brienne would be crowned in the Great Sept of Balor.

She didn’t sleep again after the messenger brought the news. Occasionally she thought she heard Jaime moving around in his rooms as well, but she didn’t go to him. She had spoken bravely before, but the reality that she was to become a queen was settling in on her. There had been many lonely nights in her life, but she felt as though she had been swept away in a powerful tide, isolated from everyone that might have helped or supported her.

She looked at Jaime’s door. He was her husband, sworn to protect her. But he’d been sworn to protect his kings as well, and he’d killed one and been dismissed by another. She should be able to confide in him, a small part of her _wanted_ to confide in him, but still she didn’t knock on his door.

Dawn came while she wrestled with herself.

Suddenly the room was filled with people. Ladies came to help her dress, highborn girls from the great Houses of the realm all flitting around and helping her dress. No doubt some of them hoped to become her ladies-in-waiting, but Brienne had given little thought to those appointments yet. Her mind had been on more serious matters.

One of the girls clucked over Brienne’s short hair, then settled in to braid it as best she could. Another found the sole pair of slippers Brienne owned and slipped her feet into them, while yet another applied cosmetics she couldn’t have named at sword point. When at last she’d been properly garbed, the ladies ordered the carriage to take her and Jaime to the sept.

Her husband joined her a moment later, perfect in his finery. He wore a heavily embroidered doublet, court breeches and supple boots. A red cloak had been draped over his shoulders and a golden lion reared across his back. He looked like the one that ought to be crowned. He may as well have been the prince in all the songs, handsome and good. But his green eyes were wary, and he gave her only the ghost of a smile as they headed down to the courtyard to meet the royal carriage.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked her, his voice pitched low so only she could hear. Brienne turned her eyes to his and then nodded slowly.

“It’s my duty, Ser Jaime.”

“Duty.” He sighed. “Of course.”

He waited as she climbed into the carriage first, then followed her. Silence fell between them as they rode through the city, but when the carriage at last slowed down he looked at her as though there was something he wanted to say to her but couldn’t.

“Be careful, my lady,” he said at last. Then, after a beat, “And be brave.”

Their arrival at the Great Sept of Balor was met with great fanfare. The captain of the city guard handed her out of the carriage, and Jaime climbed down after her just as the sun climbed over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. In that moment, surrounded by music and sunlight and cheering crowds, Brienne felt hopeful. She nearly felt beautiful. She would do right by these people. The cruel japes would stop, replaced by trust and respect as she built a government that would succor and protect them.

For the first time in what felt like a year, she truly smiled. Jaime took her arm, something unreadable but strangely sad and gentle in his eyes, and he urged her inside the sept. Together, they crossed the threshold and the ceremony began.

******

The ceremony had taken much of the morning, and the feasting much of the night. Inside the Great Sept, Jaime had watched as the septons handed Brienne the symbols of her office, bound her to the realm in a series of ancient oaths, and then finally crowned and anointed her under a shower of rainbow light from crystals placed in the windows. His wife had never faltered or shown any fear.

He had his own hastily conducted ceremony, officially making him her Prince Consort. Once that had been finished they’d returned to the Red Keep for the feast. And Jaime, feeling no different though he’d just become royal, had not bothered to moderate his intake of wine.

Cersei didn’t attend the festivities, but then no one had expected her to. Her job was to grieve her husband and prepare herself for life as a Queen Dowager. Jaime highly suspected that she was preparing for much more than that, and he was glad to see that a food taster had taken his subtle place at the royal table.

Finally, exhausted, the newly royal couple had retired to their bedchambers. Jaime didn’t know if Brienne slept, but he had rested only a few hours before his body jolted him back awake. It was early, but a faint grey light told him that dawn wasn’t far off. Too restless to stay in his room and order breakfast, he drew on some clothes and headed for his brother’s chambers.

Even at the early hour, Tyrion was awake and nearly lost in the disarray: his chambers were being packed up and everywhere Jaime looked there were loose papers and books stacked in piles, being carefully packed into crates along with clothes and trinkets.

He caught sight of Jaime and swept into a low bow, his grin wide and openly teasing as he said, “Your Highness!”

“Please,” Jaime replied with a wince, “don’t.”

“Ah yes, I do always forget how you loathe titles.” Tyrion laughed. “But how else could I greet my new prince?”

 Jaime decided to change the subject. He gestured to the piles of tomes all around the room.

“Are you relieving the Royal Library of its entire collection, brother?” he asked. Tyrion crossed his arms over his chest and glanced about at the chaos.

“Oh, not nearly. I’m simply borrowing some of its jewels. I’ll return them…eventually.” 

“You’re headed North already?” Jaime asked.

“Father ordered me to be out of the city by tomorrow evening. It’s a long journey and I doubt I can expect a warm welcome. I rather doubt I can expect a warm _anything._ There have been reports of summer snows.” Tyrion’s mouth twisted. “And of course Ned Stark hasn’t trusted us Lannisters since the Rebellion.”

Jaime exhaled sharply through his nose. “I was never one for such high ideals, but then you’ve never done anything dishonorable. Perhaps you’ll have an easier time with him than you expect.”

They shared a doubtful glance and then Jaime clasped Tyrion’s shoulder. “I wish you weren’t going.”

“Yes, it does seem as though I’ll be missing all the fun.” Tyrion looked up at his older brother, his mismatched eyes searching. “Be careful. Our sweet sister has a plan, I’m certain. Your lady is in danger, and if you get in Cersei’s way, you’ll be in danger too.”

Jaime almost told his brother about his attempt to smuggle Brienne out of the capitol, but he kept silent. It had been too little too late, and now there was naught to do but deal with the fallout.

“Cersei has never been dangerous for me,” he replied, but for the first time he felt a flicker of doubt. Tyrion smiled sadly, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid she’s always been dangerous, brother. To you especially. I’ll help if I can, but I don’t know what I’ll be able to do from the Kingsroad.”

“Just stay warm.” Jaime tried to smile at his younger brother.

“And you try using your head for once.” Tyrion grinned back, but Jaime could see the worry behind his eyes. “If I can win the Starks to Brienne’s side, I shall.”

“Thank you,” Jaime said, meaning it. Tyrion nodded and the older brother headed for the door. He’d come hoping that Tyrion might know more about the intrigues already winding themselves around Brienne, but he was grateful for the opportunity to say goodbye even if there was no fresh information.

“Jaime,” Tyrion called as he pulled open the door. He turned back to see his younger brother gazing at him with a grim expression. “Cersei’s affection for you won’t save you if you don’t support her. Keep an escape route open. You may need one.”

Jaime felt ice slide down his spine. “I will. Safe travels.”

Tyrion nodded, and Jaime left and shut the door behind him. He wondered if he’d see his brother again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say this time around, except I'm sorry I haven't responded to comments yet and I promise I will get to that ASAP! Thank you so much for your support, you guys have been amazing and it's really helped me stay motivated to write!

When Cersei insisted that she needed time to pack up her items and relocate them to the presently empty Dowager’s quarters, Brienne had not argued. There hadn’t been much time to argue: now that the Iron Throne was hers, she needs must sit in it. And sit in it she did, listening to petitions and accepting oaths of fealty from those Houses with representatives already living in the city.

There had been a Small Council meeting as well, and that had left Brienne feeling completely hamstrung. It had also redoubled her determination to put the Seven Kingdoms back to rights.

Since the Queen’s chambers were occupied, the steward and seneschal had ordered her belongings moved into the King’s chambers. They were even more elaborate, luxurious and spacious than Cersei’s rooms. Brienne immediately despised them, but she had to sleep somewhere.

She burst in through the doors leading to the innermost rooms, the private rooms, where naught but her ladies and husband might enter without permission. She tugged off the coronet that she’d worn through the day, wincing as it pulled at her hair, and tossed it onto her bed.

“Well, that’s certainly not a very queenly display, Your Grace,” a voice drawled from off to her left. Brienne spun and glared at her husband. He was lounging in one of the decorative chairs, nearly as golden as the brocade he was spread across. And he was smirking at her show of temper.

_Always smirking._ Brienne’s scowl darkened. _Like he’s in on some jest the rest of us don’t understand._

“I’m in no mood, Ser Jaime.”

“If you’re going to insist on _titles,_ dear wife, shouldn’t I be ‘your highness?’” Jaime sat up straighter and let the smirk slide off of his face. “What is it?”

“My royal cousin beggared the realm, that’s what,” Brienne fumed. “To your father, but also to the Iron Bank of Braavos. I’m not sure how Petyr Baelish has been making the interest payments, let alone paying off any of the principle debt…”

Jaime’s mouth twitched. “Yes, well, Robert was never going to remembered as a spend thrift.”

Brienne sighed. She was no good at these matters. Battles, strategy, leadership…those were things she understood. But how to scrape together enough dragons to free the Seven Kingdoms from massive debt? The Iron Bank was not known for its leniency…perhaps Tywin Lannister could be persuaded to forgive some of that debt? But she’d barely had the thought before she disregarded it. There would be no help from Casterly Rock, at least not in that regard.

Where else could she turn? Highgarden? Her brow furrowed as she tried to think of the benefits and pitfalls of that idea, and she was so distracted that she didn’t notice Jaime lift himself out of his chair and come over to her. She jumped when she realized he was so close.

“Baelish has been managing for years. He can hold them off a little longer while we find a way to pay back the money,” he said.

Brienne looked into her husband’s eyes and forgot about dragons and stags for a moment. She was grateful she didn’t truly have to look down to meet his gaze. He wasn’t as tall as she was, but it wasn’t such a glaring difference. His tone was soothing. Again, she felt a strong urge to relax, to let him help her carry some of her newest burdens.

_He’s a kingslayer,_ a voice whispered. _He thinks you’re silly and ugly. He doesn’t think you should wear the crown._

Then again, Brienne wasn’t truly convinced she should be wearing it either.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. He was too handsome, his nearness too distracting. She was tired of this, tired of being married to someone so beautiful, to someone that would only ever look at her with mild disgust.

She took a breath, found her voice. “Any news of Stannis?”

Jaime’s lips narrowed into a grim line. “No. He’s not on the Kingsroad. It doesn’t really matter, we know where he’s headed.”

“If he calls his banners, it’s an act of treason.” Brienne frowned. “But we cannot blame his bannermen, they’re only fulfilling their—”

“Duty.” Jaime gave her an exasperated look. “Blameless or not, you’ll have to order your armies against his forces.”

“I will lead them.” Brienne’s hand curled into a fist. “I will prove to the men that I am a worthy queen. If they see that I’m willing to die for them—”

“ _I_ will lead them, Brienne.” When she tried to argue, he held up a hand. “You will have plenty to see to without being on campaign. I’m the best commander you have.”

“Perhaps we should consult with Renly, he knows his brother and might offer helpful insights—” Brienne knew her cheeks were an ugly, blotchy red, she could feel the flush creeping up her neck even as she spoke, and she ducked her eyes away from Jaime’s. She heard him straighten up, go stiff at the suggestion.

“It’s not just Stannis’ rights you usurped, Brienne,” he said, his voice oddly tight. “I wouldn’t put too much trust in Renly if I were you.”

“But…but he’s still here, he still sits the Council…”

Jaime didn’t answer. She could feel his eyes on her, then heard his disgusted sigh and felt the air stir around her as he spun on his heel and left. Perhaps he was right and she shouldn’t trust Renly, but she couldn’t stop the stupid, girlish hope that the youngest Baratheon had stayed to help her. He had been kind to her before, and never humiliated her though he must know she loved him.

She called for her ladies to help her change, her mind still spinning. Once she was clad in her familiar men’s garb, she headed for a courtyard to spar. That always helped her clear her mind.

 

******

 

The first attempt on Brienne’s life happened in the practice yard. She’d already beaten a few of the squires, knocking them into the dirt and then offering them tips on their stances or technique. An older man asked for the honor of sparring against the queen, and she didn’t think to deny him. He was a stranger to her, but most of the city was still stranger to her.

She was not wearing plate or even chainmail. She’d have to return to the Council chambers soon, so she hadn’t bothered with either in order to make the most of her time with a sword. She did wear a stiff leather hauberk, which was protection enough against tourney blades. Her opponent hadn’t donned any heavier armor either, either out of a sense of fairness or because he’d decided she wasn’t good enough to get through his guard.

So many men had to learn the hard way.

She and the stranger squared off. They circled each other for a moment. Brienne was patient, she knew he’d make the first move. He was more controlled than most, watching her move before he attacked. He also didn’t attempt to beat her down with superior strength. He darted in toward her and attacked with ferocious speed.

Brienne was impressed with him: he had less pride than she’d assumed, or at least he hadn’t thought that she was just a woman playing with sharp toys that didn’t belong to her. Soon she was sweating, working hard to match his quick steps and quicker blade. He couldn’t keep it up forever, and she was sure her stamina was up for the challenge, but he was holding out longer than most.

He was decent, his slices and jabs precise. There were no wide open, stupid sweeps or wasted movements. But he was starting to tire. His blade didn’t dance quite as quickly as it had before. Brienne saw her opening and moved in close, probing his defenses for a weak spot. He jabbed at her but pulled his blade back too slowly, leaving his flank wide open for a counter attack for just a moment, but a moment was all Brienne needed. She swung her sword, aiming for a finishing blow that would take him just under the ribs—

White hot pain seared through her as his knife slipped easily—so easily—into her own unprotected left flank. _A feint,_ she thought, already spinning away from the attack with the wicked boot-blade still stuck in her side. Blood was welling around the weapon, soaking through her hauberk and down to her breeches.

With a cry of pain and rage, she yanked the knife out of her side. It was longer than she’d expected, double-edged. Made for stabbing, not slicing, but he’d lost his grip before he could deliver a fatal blow.

Brienne didn’t make that same mistake. She dropped her tourney sword as the man realized she wasn’t injured enough to fall. He turned to run but she caught him, slamming her full body weight into his and taking him to the ground. She placed his own knife at his throat and called for the guards. They arrived just as she began to get dizzy.

She gave blurry commands for the man to be detained until he could be questioned and for a Maester to be brought to tend to her wounds. She thought he must have missed the most vital places inside of her or she’d be dead, but the blood was coming quickly and she knew that even non-fatal wounds could fester, could kill, without proper treatment.

“Watch him,” she told the Gold Cloaks, indicating her would-be assassin. “Watch him carefully, we must discover where this plot came from.”

Before she could say more, two squires approached and helped her, sliding under her arms so they could half-carry her to the Maester’s chambers.

 

******

 

Jaime arrived in the Maester’s chambers with the force of a gale, stomping in to look down at his wife on her sickbed.

“Fool,” he snapped. “Thrice-blind, naïve little _fool.”_

“Husband,” she replied through tight lips. She had a cup of red wine in her hand, and her side had already been cleaned and stitched, but he could see how pale her cheeks and lips were and he’d also seen the blood in the training yard. How she hadn’t passed out was a mystery to him, but then she was probably too damned stubborn to do something as womanly as faint.

“You do not practice without being armored from now on, do you understand?” he demanded.

“Are you giving commands now, my lord?” Brienne retorted, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Someone needs must use their wits. It’s not usually me but since the gods have cursed me with a wife such as you, it seems I have no choice but to be the voice of reason.”

He was still so full of rage, even after he’d given the guards a dressing down that had probably blister their ears. Then he’d gone to find the prisoner and to make arrangements for the interrogation, only to find that the man had killed himself.

“How?” he’d bellowed at one of the Gold Cloaks.

“He got something in his mouth, Your Grace. He was dead a minute later, shaking and foaming. T’was horrible, he screamed and screamed but it killed him quick.”

_Some sort of poison, but what in the Seven hells kills so quickly?_ Jaime wondered. Tyrion would know, but Tyrion was miles away and getting further every day. He could ask the Grand Maester, but something made him hold his tongue. Besides, he didn’t need to know what manner of poison the man had taken to know who was behind this blatant, clumsy attempt on Brienne’s life.

His wife’s voice dragged him back to the present. “You don’t sound reasonable,” she snapped.

“At least chainmail, wench, do you hear me? You never cross swords again, even blunted swords, without chainmail.”

He turned to leave and heard her start to try and come after him. He turned to the guards on the door, guards he’d had to order because even now, with a dozen stitches in her side, Brienne still couldn’t seem to grasp the danger she was in.

“Keep Her Grace here, she needs her rest. If she protests, give her milk of the poppy.”

“But, my lord—Your Grace—she’s the queen—”

“Yes, I’m aware, and if she wants to stay queen she’ll heed the advice of her betters,” he growled. He heard Brienne’s wordless cry of protest, but he managed to leave her room without her chasing him down the corridor, so she must have at least a little common sense.

He stormed through the Red Keep until he reached the queen’s quarters. He stopped at the door, sucked in a fortifying breath, and then shoved inside.

If he’d thought to catch Cersei off-guard, he’d failed. She was reclining on a velvet, feather-stuffed divan with a glass of wine in hand, and she looked up calmly as he strode in. She took his fury in stride, not even bothering to rise and greet him. She merely smiled at him, a warm smile for once, one full of self-satisfaction.

“Brother,” she said. She motioned for him to sit. After the sight of Brienne, ugly and pale and wounded, Cersei was a feast for the senses. She was golden and perfumed, her body was all soft curves and unblemished skin. And yet the sight of her, so calm and confident, only fanned Jaime’s temper further. She wanted to cloud his judgment, to use her beauty against him as she so often had before, but this time she’d gone too far.

“That was a poor attempt at an assassination,” he said, ignoring both her greeting and the divan she’d waved him to.

Cersei’s gaze sharpened on her brother’s face. She snapped her fingers and her servants fled the chamber, sensing the brewing storm.

“Has something happened to your precious she-bear?” she asked, not bothering to sound innocent.

“You know what happened to her, Cersei.”

“It seems to me as though someone is trying to do you a favor.” Cersei finally rose, languidly, using her charms to their full advantage. “Who would want to be married to that freak? Certainly not you, brother, I know you too well. She bleats about honor and duty and meanwhile she’s got shoulders like the Hound’s.”

“Father would be furious that you’re interfering with his plans.”

“Father forced you to marry a boring, ugly beast from some backwater. What do you care about his plans?”

“You won’t get the crown by killing her,” Jaime replied, watching as his twin spun away from him and made her way to the table to get more wine. For a second he saw her: saw that she was the most ruthless of them, Tywin’s true heir, but the moment passed and she was just his sister again. Smart but jealous, beautiful but rash.

“Oh Jaime, I’m doing this for us, don’t you see? With her gone, we can marry and rule the realm as we ought to,” she said on a sigh, her voice a siren’s song. “Brother and sister, husband and wife. The Targaryens understood, they had the right of it. We could create a golden dynasty that will last for a thousand years.”

His head spun, his traitor heart cried out for it, the idea that Cersei might love him back, that they might have a family together—

But it was already turning to ashes in his mouth. Cersei didn’t want him or his children, not if he came to her without the throne. She cared not for the people or their welfare, she never thought of winter: all she saw in those dreams of hers were golden heads adorned by golden crowns. If she loved him at all, it was a shallow thing.

Yet he was tempted, damn him, far more than he’d like to admit.

“I am no king, and if you kill Brienne before my coronation I will never be king. There would be no Targaryen-inspired dynasty then,” he said, forcing himself to pay attention, to not get lost in pretty dreams.

Cersei’s face turned cold and dark. “Why are you so upset? It’s not as though you want her. I don’t even think you want to be king. So what is the point of storming in here and hurling disgusting accusations at my feet?”

How quickly her sweet song changed. There was no more talk of ‘doing it for us,’ now there were only disgusting accusations. And yet Jaime found he couldn’t answer her question, either. He chose to ignore it instead.

“Whatever else you’re planning,” he told her in careful, measured tones, “stop it now. Do not attempt to kill Brienne again. Even I won’t be able to protect you if you kill a queen.”

He turned and walked back toward the door. Cersei laughed as he reached it, a sound which sent a chill down his spine.

“This, from the Kingslayer?” Her voice was troublingly merry. “I won’t need your protection, brother, but remember: this was the moment you could have had everything. And now it’s gone.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a little longer. I'm a new mum and my 6 month old got truly sick for the first time, so I had my hands full. He's doing much better now so I was finally able to wrap this up. Already halfway done with Chapter 9 too so that will be up shortly!

Brienne was trying to climb out of her bed when Jaime returned with a stormy expression. Immediately his lips tightened into an even thinner line, but he didn’t chide her for exerting herself needlessly. Instead, he moved to her bedside and helped her up.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just let me take your weight. There’s no shame in it, you’ve been stabbed.”

Brienne hesitated, then slid her arm around him. Together, slowly, they made their way to her private apartments. He was surprisingly patient with her, and when others offered their help he turned them away with a brief shake of his head.

These glimpses of softness were confusing for her. She’d heard the names men whispered and the story of how he’d killed King Aerys by running him through from behind. She knew he had great prowess as a knight but few friends or companions. Even his former brothers of the Kingsguard didn’t seem to mourn his loss from their ranks.

None of that seemed to tally with the man at her side. She had expected him to be aloof, but he was protective—in Brienne’s opinion, overly so. She hadn’t considered for a moment that he might care for her, and yet here he was supporting her as she made her way to her own bed. He did this without self-consciousness, without seeming to think anything of it at all.

How could this be the same man she knew as the Kingslayer?

That thought refused to leave her during the long walk. The only thing that distracted her from it was the realization that they were standing next to her bed and now she’d have to find a way to climb into it without causing herself too much extra misery.

Jaime waited as she folded herself into bed, trying not to bend at the waist any more than was strictly necessary. Then he brought her milk of the poppy.

“I don’t want it,” she said.

“You need to sleep to heal. And you need to heal fast,” he replied. She could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“You think others will try to harm me?” she asked him, reaching for the goblet. He didn’t reply, but she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten and knew the answer was yes.

She hesitated, then asked, “Will you try to harm me?”

He looked down at her then, his eyes startled. There was a spark of something: fury perhaps. It flitted through his expression quickly and was almost immediately replaced with a sort of weariness she’d never seen in his countenance before.

“No, I won’t hurt you.”

“You hurt Aerys,” she said. Her head was already starting to feel funny. A strange mist was settling over her thoughts. It was both relaxing and a bit frustrating. She wanted to focus, but her concentration was splitting into threads and sliding through her fingers as the milk of the poppy took hold.

“Ah yes. I assumed you’d ask me about that at some point. I suppose a queen married to the Kingslayer might have some concerns.” He sounded bitter. “Well, you can rest easy, lady wife. There were…extenuating circumstances. And I wasn’t married to Aerys.”

“You were sworn to him.” Her words were starting to get blurry.

“So I was. And to my father, and to the realm, and to the Seven. Oaths of fealty work both ways, Brienne. Your liege lord is supposed to protect and succor you in return. All Aerys was willing to give to anyone was fire.”

It was getting harder and harder to make out his words. Damn the milk of the poppy! There seemed to be wads of cotton stuffed in her ears, and she wanted to hear this. She found she was desperate to hear it, to understand what he was only hinting at.

“What…d’you…” Gods, her eyelids were so heavy. “What…d’you…mean?”

Her husband was looking down at her thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you’ll remember this tomorrow anyway.”

She didn’t respond to that, afraid that if she protested he wouldn’t say whatever was on the tip of his tongue.

He sighed and sat on the floor next to her bed, his long limbs folded almost protectively around his core. And then he began speaking, spilling out the whole tragic tale. He sounded almost disgusted as he revealed to her the true circumstances of Aerys’ death, and then toward the end that disgust turned into defeat. Brienne wanted to lift a hand, to touch him or comfort him somehow, but her limbs seemed to have been turned to lead.

Her eyes drifted shut, stayed that way. She heard Ned Stark’s name, heard Robert’s, and then she heard no more as sleep carried her away on a black tide.

******

Jaime sat next to Brienne’s bed for a long time after she’d fallen asleep, wondering just why he’d decided to tell her everything. He’d kept it to himself for so many years: even Cersei had never gotten the whole story from him. Robert hadn’t cared why Jaime had turned on his king, he’d only wanted assurances that his back wouldn’t receive the Kingslayer’s sword next. And Ned Stark…well, Ned Stark probably wouldn’t have changed his opinion even if he had known the truth. The only way Jaime could have redeemed himself in Ned Stark’s eyes would have been to fall on his sword.

Oh well. At least that old grey wolf was in the North now, his judgements far away from court. He would like Brienne, though. They both had the same exalted sense of duty and honor.

Perhaps they should send him a raven. Hearing from Brienne herself might soothe any ruffled fur, considering Stark had fought a war to put the Baratheons on the throne…and should he make the mistake of coming south with his forces on behalf of Stannis anyway, Jaime would send him back home with tail between his legs. The Warden of the North didn’t scare him.

 _No need to worry about that just yet,_ he reminded himself. After all, Tyrion was still on his way to Winterfell to offer an alliance with the new royal family. And perhaps, when he was king, he could offer Casterly Rock to Sansa Stark in addition to his little brother. It would certainly vex his father, but Jaime had never wanted the Rock in the first place. Tyrion would cherish it far more, and the Starks could hardly refuse their daughter one of the most powerful seats in the Realm. The richest, as well.

He looked over his shoulder at Brienne. Her face had softened in sleep, the pain and worry gone from her expression. She wasn’t beautiful, and yet he found his eyes lingering on her. When had he started seeing her bravery there, instead of a too-wide mouth? When had her open, steadfast nature blinded him to her broken nose, her wide shoulders, her brutally short hair? When had her goodness made him want to defend her to the point of alienating his own family?

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Then he climbed to his feet, glanced one last time at his wife, and left the King’s chambers.

The next few days passed quietly, but Jaime refused to relax his guard. Cersei was never patient: another attempt at ridding Brienne of the crown would come soon. So he stayed by his wife’s side as she met with the Small Council and listen to petitions. She’d written to Ned Stark as he’d suggested. She had also ordered all the Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, great and small, to increase their stockpiles of preserved food. She told him she was determined that no one would go hungry during her first winter as queen, though summer was still making the afternoons a long, hot trial.

Word of her fair, honorable rulings and her generosity with petitioners soon spread through the city and beyond. The smallfolk still called her the Maid of Tarth, but it had transformed from a jape about their empty marriage bed to a virtuous title, spoken in pride and awe.

Jaime had no doubt his wife’s popularity made Cersei apoplectic.

If Brienne remembered his bedside confession, she gave little hint of it. The only change he could see was a difference in the way she looked at him. She seemed more inclined to listen to him as well, weighing his words and opinions more carefully even if they did continue to spend most of their time arguing. Jaime wanted her to err more on the side of self-preservation, but Brienne was determined not to live in fear. And if she was not afraid, her subjects would not be either.

They were taking supper together in her chambers and arguing over the cause of Stannis’ ominous silence when a page announced Tywin Lannister. He’d barely gotten the name out when the man himself barged into their private dining room.

One look at his face sent off alarm bells in Jaime’s brain. His father rarely allowed himself the luxury of true rage, but there was no other word for the stormy expression on his father’s face, or the ice in his eyes as he looked to Brienne.

“Your Grace,” he said with a short, precise bow. “I have grave news.”

“Good-father, please make yourself comfortable at our table and share our refreshments,” Brienne replied. She was always overly formal with Tywin. Jaime didn’t fault her for it: his father was not a man one got comfortable with. The Lannister patriarch ignored her courtesies and looked to his son.

“Rally the Gold Cloaks and the armies,” he said. Jaime’s heart jumped in his chest: action at last! Languishing around the Red Keep was driving him slowly mad.

“Stannis?” he asked. Tywin shook his head, his mouth as sharp as a knife’s edge.

“Cersei.”

Brienne shot Jaime a look. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“She left the castle before dawn this morning. She and Renly Baratheon eloped two nights ago in secret. They mean to press his claim to the throne.”

Jaime made a derisive noise. “What claim to the throne? Even if Robert hadn’t disinherited the remaining Baratheons, he’s still the youngest brother.”

“He knows as well as we do that the people will not rise for Stannis. He’s hoping they’ll rise for him, especially since he has the former queen in his bed.”

“The Queen Dowager was his good-sister. Surely they cannot be truly wed?” Brienne said. Tywin’s eyes turned to her.

“The High Septon is of the opinion that the union is valid because my daughter claims her previous marriage was never consummated.” His voice was disgusted. “I still ordered the septon that performed the ceremony to be arrested. He is in the dungeons awaiting trial as we speak.”

“Where are they?” Jaime asked, uninterested in the details of his sister’s marital status. At least he told himself he was uninterested. There was an ache there, somewhere, but it was easily overshadowed by a need for urgency.

“We’re not sure. He can’t go to Storm’s End if that’s where Stannis is headed. They may be going west, although I doubt any Lannister bannermen would rise for Cersei knowing that I’m here, supporting the current regime. And you, Your Grace, can make that even more plain by naming me your Hand,” he said to Brienne. “Jon Arryn is old and timid. He can be of no help to you in these times. With both Baratheons plotting to take the field against you, you need someone experienced and decisive.”

Jaime wanted to argue, but he found Brienne’s other prospects for the position to be slim. Perhaps Ser Barriston, but he’d never enjoyed high politics, and Brienne had plenty of chivalric notions of her own; she needed no encouragement on that front. Ned Stark might not rouse himself for the cousin instead of the brothers, and the Martells were no doubt unhappy that the Lannisters had once again married into the ruling family. That left Mace Tyrell or his lord father, and Mace Tyrell was not the seasoned battle commander that Tywin was.

She’d need a seasoned battle commander, that much had become obvious. Even if Stannis couldn’t raise an army, Renly was so beloved of the commons that he might stand a chance.

Though she must be thinking along the same lines, a shadow flitted over Brienne’s face. Her only response was, “I’ll consider it.”

Tywin looked thunderous but he kept his own council. Jaime had warned him how stubborn Brienne could be if she was backed into a corner.

“You should consider crowning your husband as well. The Kingdoms will take comfort in having a proper king on the throne.”

“If that’s all, my lord Lannister?” Brienne smiled at him, but it was a thin thing with no warmth. She didn’t meet Jaime’s gaze, either. A silence fell over the room at her words. If Brienne felt the force of her good-father’s displeasure, she didn’t give any indication. Tywin looked for a long moment as though he might protest this dismissal, then he gave her another bow.

“We’ll talk soon, Your Grace. Jaime, a word?” he said, making it clear that this was not a request. Jaime glanced one last time at Brienne, then he rose from the table and followed his father out of the dining room. As soon as they were alone, Tywin grasped his arm in an iron grip.

“Consummate the marriage,” he said in tones that would brook no argument. “There must never be even a hint that you are not her legitimate lord and husband. Do it before your coronation.”

“If I have a coronation,” Jaime replied drily. Brienne wasn’t exactly clamoring to put a crown on his head, and he wasn’t exactly eager to wear one either. Tywin’s hand tightened on his arm.

“Just do it,” he snapped, and then he released his son and left the royal apartments.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited by the response to my little twist last chapter. Thank you so much everyone! It was great to read all your responses. This chapter doesn't deal with Cersei's new alliance directly yet but we'll get back to that soon I promise.

When Jaime rejoined Brienne at the table, she noticed that something had changed. He glanced at her and— _flushed?_ She told herself it was surely a trick of the light, but no: when she looked again, his cheeks were still slightly pink. It only enhanced his appeal, and she tried to ward off her exasperation by reaching for a goblet of wine.

He picked up his utensils and pushed the roasted duck and vegetables around on his plate. Brienne watched him for a moment and then returned to her own meal. She still didn’t have a huge appetite and her side ached all the time, but she did her best to eat and regain her strength. The maesters had warned her against returning to the practice field too quickly, and there was a restless energy building up in her that she wasn’t sure what to do with. It had only been a few days and she felt ready to climb the beautiful tapestries that adorned her walls.

If only the wound had been closer to being fully healed. She needed to swing a sword, to fight, to chase away the chasm that Tywin Lannister’s news had opened beneath her feet. Her heart felt trampled.

_Renly,_ it whispered. _Renly, how could you?_

These were the foolish thoughts of a woman, Brienne told herself, yet the pain persisted. She had always known that Renly would never love her back, and she told herself she didn’t expect anything of him. That hadn’t been true: at the very least, she had expected some loyalty, some respect from him. She’d thought she’d had that, but of course it had only been a dream. Whatever kindness he’d shown her had merely been proper and polite. It had been her due as the heir of Tarth.

As a usurper, it was clear she inspired no devotion from him at all.

Suddenly, whatever small appetite she’d gained since being stabbed left her. When pushed her plate away, Jaime got to his feet almost instantly. Evidently, she wasn’t the only restless one. She stood more painfully and was about to bid him goodnight when he turned toward her. There was a look in his eyes, as though he wanted to say something but dared not, and that gaze kept her pined to the spot.

“Mourn, but don’t spend too much time on it. We have plans to make,” he said at last, his voice quiet. It struck her then that he had something to mourn as well: his own sister had betrayed him, would raise armies against him. Betrayed by love and family… _he must feel utterly alone._

“It’s good advice, my lord,” Brienne replied through numb lips.

He nodded and left her alone in her apartments, the door closing behind him quietly. Only then did she realize it might have been nice not to be left to an empty room and her pitiful thoughts. With a sigh, she rang for her ladies to help her prepare for bed.

******

She didn’t see Jaime again until after supper the following day. He’d ridden out of the Red Keep early with only a few men at his side, leaving Brienne to carry on with the endless minutia of running the Kingdoms. The work left her little time to grieve Renly, but it did bring the issue of whether to elevate her husband from Prince Consort to King or not sharply into focus. He would hate it, but he would be good at it…and yet it seemed linked in her mind to handing power to Tywin, and she shrank from that idea. Crown or not, she had no doubt who would run the Seven Kingdoms if Tywin had such power.

All of that flew from her mind when he caught her in the corridors between the audience chamber and the dining room.

“I have something for you,” he said. “Come with me.”

Brienne followed him as he led her toward his bedchamber. She had never been there, though he had never barred her from entering. It just seemed safer somehow not to. He spun her up, trapped her in a web of attraction and confusion that clouded her judgment. She couldn’t tolerate that, not when she had to rule the Seven Kingdoms as well as herself.

The room was surprisingly impersonal. If Jaime had many private possessions, this wasn’t where he kept them. It was furnished lavishly, as all the rooms in the royal apartments were, but apart from clothes and armor it was all but unlived in. The servants had straightened up so that it wasn’t even obvious that her husband slept here.

He didn’t seem to notice her fascinated study as he strode toward a wardrobe at least a head taller than he was. She was slower, still favoring the deep wound in her side. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that she was still behind him, then he opened the doors. Inside was a beautiful set of armor, ornate without being ostentatious. It was a modern design, easier to move around in without sacrificing strength or the safety of the occupant. The breastplate was decorated with the crescent moons and sunbursts that were the symbols of House Tarth, and Brienne stepped closer and lifted trembling fingers to trace them. Homesickness swept over her in a suffocating wave, and her eyes filled with tears before she could stop them.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, though the words seemed horribly inadequate.

“It didn’t arrive in time,” Jaime replied, glancing at her wounded side. “But it should protect you in future.”

Brienne took a deep breath. “Ser Jaime, I must apologize. I misjudged you, allowed foul rumors to guide my treatment of you when you are a true, noble knight—”

Her husband lifted a hand to cut her off. “Don’t mistake me for one of the knights of song. I still have shit for honor. I didn’t tell you about Aerys for praise or pity, my lady.”

“You should have told Ned Stark. You should have told everyone,” she said.

“You have no idea how quickly it all happened. And at the time, everything seemed so obvious: it had all been done in the open. But rebellions are messy. No one cared why I’d killed Aerys, they were too busy scrambling to secure that ugly iron chair for Robert. In the madness of those last days the truth was quickly lost. Besides, the Kingslayer story made for better drama.”

“It isn’t too late,” she insisted. He only shook his head at her naivety.

“It’s far too late. If the truth did get out now, who would believe it? Even a queen doesn’t have the power to change the perception of men. You can order them to believe whatever you want and they may make a pretty show of obeying, but their hearts and minds were made up long ago.”

The injustice of that cut deep, but Brienne knew his words were true. Strange how deeds could be so grievously misjudged, and how quickly those judgments could destroy a man’s entire life. Somehow Jaime had made the best of it, but it had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet his eyes softened when he saw how earnestly she was looking at him, as if she’d rewrite history if it would bring any comfort to him.

“Ser Jaime,” she began, but he cut her off gently.

“You should call me Jaime,” he said. His voice held all the sensual quality of velvet. He’d turned away from the wardrobe to face her, and Brienne felt herself being drawn to him. She tried to shake off the sense that the world had narrowed to just the two of them, afraid of this new power he had over her.

“You’re a knight—” she protested feebly. She needed to keep some sort of barrier between them, needed to guard against her own treacherous heart. Calling him Jaime would be crossing a line that she was sure it wouldn’t be wise to cross.

“I’m your husband,” he replied. There was no arguing with the truth of that, and he said the words so caressingly…

“I should…people will wonder where I’ve gone…” Her voice had gone slightly breathless, and she was swamped with a sudden wave of adrenalin as she realized how close he was standing to her. When had he moved? Or had it been her devious feet that had brought her closer to him?

His lips curled into a slow smile. “No one will wonder. Half a dozen servants saw you come in here with me. Their imaginations are probably already running wild. Ah yes, there’s that blush.”

“You’re teasing me,” she accused him.

“I’m discovering I take a particular delight in it,” he replied, his smile widening and becoming more mischievous by the moment. _This is dangerous,_ warned a small, still-rational voice in Brienne’s head. The rest of her prickled with awareness of him, with anticipation. He might be toying with her, playing some game of courtly love, but she couldn’t help her response.

“Should a husband tease his wife?” she asked, and Jaime grasped her sleeve and tugged her gently forward.

“Only if she’s as responsive as you are.” There was still laughter in his eyes, but his smile was fading into something more intense. “Call me Jaime.”

What was his preoccupation with his own name? she wondered, but she didn’t seem to have control over her mouth any longer.

“Jaime,” she said, and it was more a sigh than a word. Jaime’s eyes, so close to her own, changed: the pupils dilated and the look he was giving her now was almost predatory. The hand on her arm slid up over her shoulder and cupped her neck. Almost before she finished saying his name, he’d moved so their lips were nearly brushing—

And then, as though someone had poured a bucket of water over his head, he flinched and pulled away from her.

“Jaime?” she asked, coming out of her daze as her husband took a few quick, deliberate steps away from her.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I forgot myself.” His breathing was unsteady, she noticed, and his eyes were turbulent. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“It’s...there’s nothing to forgive,” Brienne replied, although his use of her title struck her like a slap. For a moment she could have sworn he wanted her, and she had surrendered to him so quickly that the embarrassment of it sent a flush to her cheeks. Now he had come to his senses, but Brienne’s heart was still throbbing painfully in her chest.

_Foolish woman, how many times must you make the same mistake?_

“Please…excuse me, I needs must…Goodnight, my lord,” she said, and—to her shame—she fled.

******

Jaime watched as Brienne left his bedchamber as fast as her long legs would allow, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste to escape, and guilt flooded through him. He hadn’t meant to lose control over the situation, and he hadn’t lured her to his private rooms to seduce her, but when the mood changed he had been swept up in it. The promise of intimacy and his own strange admiration of her had combined into an irresistible need to touch her, taste her. Her voice had gone so soft and husky, those incredible eyes so hot that his body had no choice but to respond.

He would have tumbled her into his bed without a second thought, made sure that no one in King’s Landing would ever call her the _Maid_ of Tarth again—

And then he’d remembered his father’s order.

What if she found out about Tywin’s command? She was already so skittish, she’d never believe that Jaime wanted her on his own if she thought his father had ordered him to bed her. To be honest, he had never expected to feel such a deep, potent desire for her, and yet here he was still aching for her long after she’d disappeared to the safety of her own bedchamber.

He tried to shove his personal frustration away, to forget how she’d nearly moaned his name and how impossible it had been to stop what had been happening between them. He _had_ to stop thinking about it. Soon they’d be facing the Baratheons in battle. As always, there were the Stark words to consider: winter _would_ come, and if they were still fighting a civil war when it came, many and more would starve. The royal treasury was empty, and the Iron Bank would come calling for its money before too much more time had passed…there were so many things to think about. And yet his mind turned to his wife again and again.

There was nothing he could do but bathe, climb into bed and try to rest. And dream of her. He always seemed to dream of her.

******

Brienne didn’t come to the dining room to break her fast. She was not in her private apartments, either. Jaime finally found her in, of all places, _Tywin’s_ chambers in the midst of a heated argument with his father.

“Jaime’s coronation _must_ be a grand spectacle,” Tywin was saying. He was standing in front of his queen with the confidence of a stone wall. Brienne was frowning at him and her hands were perched on her hips as she considered his argument. Around her, the room was gilded and masculine, covered with the evidence of Tywin’s prowess at hunting, but though Brienne was almost literally in the lion’s den, she did not appear cowed. She met Tywin’s eyes with her own steady gaze, guided as she always was by her infallible moral compass.

“Why must it be a full week of spectacle? My coronation was simple enough and the people seemed satisfied.”

“Your coronation needed to happen quickly, Your Grace, because we needed to secure the throne. But now that throne is safe and Jaime can be crowned with all due ceremony. It has been far too long since there have been any grand feasts or tournaments.”

“I don’t need to remind you that the crown has no money and that we will soon be fighting a war. How shall we pay for such extravagances, my lord?” Brienne asked as she toyed with a golden lion’s head which rested on the Tywin’s mantlepiece. Neither of them seemed to have noticed Jaime’s arrival, but that suited him: not only did he want to see how Brienne would manage his father, but he needed to gather as much information about their circumstances as he could.

“You are young, your rule is new. The people love you. If you woo them, give them a proper show, they will reward you.” Tywin gestured to the city outside of his windows. “Throw a big enough party and they won’t grumble too much when you increase taxes.”

Brienne’s frown deepened. “The smallfolk already feel the strain of taxes, my lord. And they have already been ordered to surrender more of their harvests. Yet you would have me burden them further? What will they do when winter comes?”

Tywin’s expression lacked even a hint of mercy. “Die, I imagine, as smallfolk always do in times of war.”

For a moment, Jaime thought his wife was going to throw that gilded lion at his father. Her fingers tightened around it until her knuckles were white, and the muscles in her arms visibly bunched. But then she took a breath and forced herself to appear calm.

“I am sworn to protect them. It is my sacred duty as their sovereign, and the vow of even the lowest hedge knight.”

Tywin waved a dismissive hand. “A pretty oath, designed for summer songs. But you must learn to face reality, Your Grace: you have no choice but to replenish the royal coffers. And there is only one way to do so. Make a show of Jaime’s coronation and the commons will fall all over themselves to give you what you ask. And when the war begins, think of how much harder your armies will fight when they share the field with their king.”

Brienne turned away from him, silent and troubled as she thought over his words. The kings and queens of stories all ruled wisely, serene and secure on their thrones. But the reality was this: hard choices, sacrifices, and constant worry. Jaime could see the strain of it bowing her shoulders. He cleared his throat.

“Much as I enjoy a good feast,” he said with a false smile, “surely I don’t merit a week’s worth of tourneys and celebration.”

Tywin turned a disapproving look to his son. He appeared to be irritated that he and Brienne had been disturbed, but before he could say anything, Jaime held up a small roll of parchment.

“I have word from Tyrion,” he said. “He reached Winterfell two nights ago.”

“And?” his father demanded.

“And he has been rebuffed.” Jaime watched as Tywin’s face reddened with rage, then he turned his gaze to Brienne. He could read the dismay in her expression, and the sympathy for Tyrion.

“They dare—!” Tywin began, but Jaime cut him off.

“He writes that Ned Stark insists that his daughter is too young to be wed and that a match for his son Robb must be made first. He also says that Stark does not seem inclined to raise his banners for Stannis Baratheon. If Brienne calls on the North to defend the crown, Tyrion thinks he’ll ride south to join his armies to hers. But he won’t give us Sansa.”

Tywin gripped his sword hilt. “I always knew he was a fool.”

“Where is Tyrion now?” Brienne asked.

“Still enjoying the dubious hospitality of the Starks,” Jaime told her. “He doesn’t say how long he’ll stay, but I imagine he’ll make for White Harbor soon.”

“Lord Tywin,” Brienne said, her voice suddenly imperious, “you will accept Ned Stark’s decision without malice. Tyrion will be welcomed back to King’s Landing, and I will personally approach Mace Tyrell. I believe he has a daughter of marriageable age.”

Tywin grunted. “Margaery,” he said, and Jaime knew he had only learned the girl’s name while making plans to wed Cersei into the family.

“Very well. Perhaps Highgarden will be more amenable to an alliance. Please excuse me, I’ll go and write the summons immediately,” she said, and swept out of Tywin’s chambers with all the haughty dignity of her office, no doubt glad of this excuse to leave him.

Jaime followed her out, amused at how quickly she dropped her queenly pretense as soon as she was free of his father’s presence. Halfway down the corridors her shoulders relaxed, her chin lowered, and the court mask slipped from her as she got lost in her own thoughts.

“That’s not all he said,” he called after her.

Brienne stopped and turned to him, watching him come closer with wary blue eyes. “Surely your brother doesn’t have more bad news?”

“Well, he did write that it Cersei must have been frustrated by the fact that Stannis is faithfully married so she couldn’t fuck her way back on the throne through him. He seemed amused by the fact that she had to settle for the younger brother, even if he is prettier.”

His wife rolled her eyes at Tyrion’s vulgarity. “Did he say anything else _useful?”_

“As a matter of fact…” Jaime handed her the second parchment he’d received from his brother. He watched her magnificent eyes scan the paper, widen, and turn back to his.

“Is it true?” she asked, her voice low and desperate.

“No one on this side of the Narrow Sea knows for sure,” he replied grimly, “but Tyrion seems to believe it. And if Danereys Targaryen _does_ have three dragons, there’s no doubt where she’s headed.”

“Here,” Brienne agreed, and crumpled up the letter. “She’ll come here.”

_Burn them all,_ Jaime thought. He covered his wife’s hand with his own. “Yes. She’ll come for her father’s throne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bam bam bammmm!


End file.
